


immersion

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bottom Will Graham, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Choking, Creampie, Crying, Established Relationship, First Time, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Haphephobia, M/M, Phobias, Rape, Someone Help Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 19:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19341250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: "You got what you wanted," Will breathes, bitter and low. Hannibal blinks at him. "Are you going to kill me now?"





	immersion

**Author's Note:**

> https://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1847.html?thread=2206263

Hannibal has become a master of stillness. Patience, he has always prided himself on having – one doesn't gain the reputation of the most focused and ruthless killer in Baltimore without having a veritable wealth of it. Stillness comes later; even a lioness will shift her weight, move her eyes, tail flicking lazily back and forth as she scans the herd for her next meal.

But Hannibal must be still, now, most of the time, when Will is around. Will has a very particular, powerful phobia – that is, the fear of being touched. Hannibal intimately knows the scent of his cold sweat, his saccharine fear; knows the icy chill of it clogging his nose when they were first becoming friendly, when he'd move too quickly and too close.

Hannibal is a tactile creature. It's no secret that the Ripper craves connection – Will was the first one to deduce that from his profile, though Hannibal cannot fathom how he came to that conclusion, but it's true. Hannibal enjoys touch, and always has. He likes the heat of another body, likes the scent of hair and skin on someone vibrant and alive. He delights in admiring the strength and bone in a man or woman, petting their shoulders, likes how their blood sweetens and they smile when give a warm handshake or a gentle embrace.

Will doesn't. He can't, by the nature of his disorder. He has tried, let it never be said he hasn't tried, but even six months into their relationship he can't even stomach the idea of sitting next to Hannibal on the couch – his eyes roll and show their whites like a startled horse, his jaw clenches, his fingers curling to white-knuckled fists as the rest of him trembles with anxiety.

Hannibal can be patient, and still. He has no doubt that, eventually, one day, Will can recover. He is relatively open about his past, and has yet to reveal any trauma that caused his phobia to begin with. "I've just always been like this," he says, and Hannibal has no reason to doubt him, although he's sure that there is a cause – it may just be buried deep in Will's psyche, and must require concentration and dedication to unearth.

He knows Will loves him, just as ardently as any man can love another. He knows because Will tries – he tries, and he shakes, and he fills Hannibal's mouth with terror. Hannibal would give the world to soothe Will's fear, but he cannot the way he traditionally would, with soft touches and gentle hands. Words are a weaker way to soothe the trembling beast in Will's chest, and it is the slow-drip erosion of a rivulet instead of the burst dam he desires.

Hannibal is not _that_ kind of monster – he doesn't enjoy the idea of forcing himself on another person, proving his prowess and dominance by splitting them apart and making them moan for him. No, he gets enough of that in his kills, but a deep, dark part of him cannot help but wonder if it would be easier to simply decimate Will at his core, and rebuild him from the ground up.

There's something to be said for the effectiveness of immersion therapy.

In the end, the decision is made for him, as Will stumbles back, flushed with cold sweat and shaking so badly his knees might give out beneath him. He rubs both hands over his face and shakes his head sharply, letting out a pitiful noise as Hannibal approaches him.

"You're the Ripper," he whispers. Hannibal sighs through his nose, and Will flinches when Hannibal reaches for him, so slick with fear his hair has left a stain on the upholstery of the couch behind him. One wayward sketch, the Wounded Man atop his desk, and it had all come crashing down. There are tears in Will's eyes and he curls up as tight as he can, as if that could save him. "You're -. Oh, _God_."

"I'm sorry you had to find out this way," Hannibal replies, and he means it. He crouches down and reaches for Will's hands, and Will shrieks, kicking and lashing out savagely, catching his knuckles on Hannibal's jaw. He freezes, and Hannibal sighs, rubbing over the dull ache.

"Will," he says, and Will is absolutely frozen with fear now, as Hannibal cups his hands and thumbs over his rabbit-thump heart. His eyes are wide, pupils big and black, so high on adrenaline Hannibal can taste it. He tugs his hands away and forces Hannibal to tighten them. "Will, darling, please. Breathe. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Let go of me," Will whispers, so weak the words barely form sound. He curls his fingers and tries to scramble away and Hannibal tightens his grip – he will not let Will leave now. He might do something drastic.

He sighs, and leans forward, easily able to force Will's body, so unsteady with fear that he's limp as a newborn, to fold into him. He plants a hand over Will's throat and Will's eyes widen, he gasps and claws at Hannibal's hand, shuddering, his heart flying beneath Hannibal's grip. Hannibal flexes his fingers, finds the surging rush of Will's pulse, and digs his grip tighter. It will take mere seconds to render Will unconscious like this.

Will's lashes flutter, and he makes a weak, desperate little sound. "Please," he gasps, arms falling loose, chest heaving as he fights to stay conscious. His legs twitch, trying to rise, to push Hannibal away. "Please, stop."

Hannibal's hand loosens on instinct, too-trained to Will's distress to ignore it right away. Will sucks in a breath, his head rolling to the side limply. He heaves another strained sob, tears in his eyes. Hannibal sighs through his nose, and pets over his cheek, as Will flinches again, trying to get away from him.

"Will, stop this," he murmurs. "Have I ever harmed you? Have I ever treated you with anything other than love and affection?"

Will's heart is rushing so quickly, he may pass out if Hannibal keeps this up. Perhaps that would be easier.

"Look at me, darling."

Will squeezes his eyes tightly shut, more tears falling, and Hannibal sighs again. Well, he supposes now is as good a time as any to attempt more aggressive treatment of Will's phobia. He presses his hands to Will's chest, and begins to unbutton his shirt.

Will tenses, pushing at his hands, and Hannibal returns one to Will's throat, squeezing until he goes limp again. Will is sobbing openly now, so sour with fear – a scent Hannibal has never minded before, but now he despises. He bares his teeth and pushes Will's shirt halves apart, revealing his chest and belly. His ribs stand out starkly from the force of his prey-animal breaths, his stomach sunk in like it's trying to hide away inside him.

He keeps one hand on Will's neck, as he pulls at Will's belt and tugs it free, tossing it to one side. He slides his hand down to Will's chest as he yanks him onto the floor, Will lying prone and too scared now to fight him, as Hannibal pulls his slacks and underwear down to his knees.

He lays Will's shirt out on the floor, and rolls him to his belly, straddling his thighs.

Will sobs when Hannibal touches him, finding new strength and thrashing beneath his weight, but he's too scared and too weak to do any damage or really risk bucking Hannibal off. Hannibal sighs, and leans down over him, wrapping a gentle hand around Will's neck to keep track of his heart rate, and nuzzles Will's hair.

"Please," Will whimpers. "Please don't. Let me go – I won't tell anyone, I won't do anything -."

Hannibal smiles, the expression not happy in the slightest. "Will, darling, I want to believe you," he says gently, threading his other hand through Will's hair. Will is starting to hyperventilate now, his heartbeat changing from the strong pulse of a hunted animal to the delicate flutter of a suffocating bird. "But I think we both know that you'd say anything right now, to get me to stop."

Will trembles, tense as a rubber band pulled too tight. He shudders when Hannibal kisses his neck, flinches when Hannibal pets down his strong back – oh, he is lovely, even so afraid. He's beautiful, really, and has let Hannibal draw him as a paltry offering for the lack of physical contact he insists upon, but there's a difference between committing his image to paper and feeling it under Hannibal's hands.

Will is soaked with sweat, and when Hannibal moves back and begins to work him open, he struggles so harshly that he ends up headbutting the couch, skull and wood cracking together with a solid sound. He groans, dazed, and goes limp enough for Hannibal to force two fingers inside him.

Will's sweat is what he uses to slick the way. There is, after all, so much of it.

"I'm going to help you, Will," he promises. "You don't have anything to fear from me. I'm going to help."

"You're not -. This isn't -." He's too breathless to make complete sentences, too alight with fear to keep fighting. Hannibal notes the precise moment his body gives out, too weak to maintain itself, and Will's muscles abruptly loosen around his fingers, letting him sink all the way inside.

Hannibal sighs, and adds a third. Will's rim tears and he whimpers at the sting of his sweat as blood beads around Hannibal's knuckles. "It'll get better," he promises. "I swear, Will, I won't rest until you're healed. I only want to see you happy."

He pulls his fingers out, and undoes his clothes to free his cock. Even the sight of Will, trembling and sodden through he is, has excited him – he feels ablaze with the need to be inside Will, has since the moment they met. Will is so beautiful, it's natural, he thinks, to want to lay claim to some of that beauty in whatever way he can.

He parts Will's flesh, and pushes himself inside, growling when Will screams and thrashes anew, reaching back to claw at his hips and try to do damage. He can't, because even lashing out requires touch, and Hannibal can feel the clench of him as he tries to resist, tries to overcome his natural fear, to fight back.

He pushes deep into Will, groaning at the heat and tightness that clings to his cock, and covers Will gently, petting through his sweaty hair and kissing his pale neck. He rolls his hips and Will stiffens, whimpering, shoves his fists against the floor and drags his nails like he's trying to get away.

"It's alright, darling," Hannibal says, breathless despite himself. This is not the way he pictured his first time with Will, but it's undeniably sweet – he is gentle, despite the subpar preparation and the way Will is still making weak, desperately terrified sounds against the floor, his nose pressed flat and teeth bared.

"Please stop," Will begs. "Please, just – just stop. I swear I won't -."

He stops, hiccupping pathetically as Hannibal pulls back, only to press deep again. Will is so tight around him, clamping down viciously around his cock. Hannibal groans, and bares his teeth against Will's neck, licks up his sweat and presses his nose to Will's racing heart.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he promises, as Will's body convulses and a fresh wave of tears spills from his clenched-shut eyes. He drags his hands down Will's arms, covers his fists and laces their fingers together and Will shakes his head. "I won't, Will – it doesn't hurt, does it?"

"I can't breathe," Will replies.

"It's okay," Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his hair. All the things he would give to have Will touch him openly, but if this is what he must do for now, then he will – Will must recover, he'll overcome his fear just like he has overcome everything else. He will realize, some day soon, that Hannibal could not possibly hurt him, that every touch will be gentle and loving and kind. "Match your breathing to mine, darling. In." He breathes in, and Will tries to obey, drags in an achingly slow breath. "Out. There we go. In again."

He matches each of Will's breaths to the rhythm of his hips, as slow and gentle as he has been with any lover. Will stutters, shudders, as Hannibal growls softly and fucks in, closing his eyes, and releases himself into Will. The flood of his come makes Will even wetter, and he works his hips against Will, releasing his wrists and petting over his bare hips to keep him still and spasming as Hannibal fills him.

He pulls out with another sigh, corrects his clothes, admiring the spread of pink on Will's back from the friction of his chest hair, the single white bead of come mingling with the blood on his rim. He touches it, and Will flinches, but is too weak to move further.

Hannibal smiles, and pushes himself to his feet, gathering Will close. He's too shaken to stand properly, but that's alright – Hannibal has no intention of letting him go. Will's sobs have quieted, but he's still weeping openly, and turns his face away when Hannibal tries to kiss him.

He sighs again, petting through Will's hair. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs. Will's entire upper body caves in around another weak noise, he shakes his head, but Hannibal is much stronger than he is, and easily tugs Will along, towards the stairs.

"You got what you wanted," Will breathes, bitter and low. Hannibal blinks at him. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"Of course not," Hannibal replies with a huff. He touches Will's wet cheek and smiles when Will doesn't flinch, this time – perhaps he is simply too out of it to react, now. He is retreating inside himself, but that's alright – Hannibal can be patient. "We still have a long road ahead for your recovery, darling. I intend to be there for all of it."

Will sobs, and is silent, as Hannibal sheds their clothes, draws a bath, and coaxes Will into the warm water. He climbs in behind, keeping Will frozen and pliant as he gently bathes him, and by the time Will collapses, too weak with the loss of adrenaline and fresh exhaustion to keep his eyes open, he carefully carries Will to bed, and binds his hands and ankles with soft silk so he cannot run away.

Then, he cradles Will to his chest, and falls asleep with the taste of Will's tears in his mouth.


End file.
